113

ROXANNE POV

The next morning came far too quickly.

After the tension of yesterday, meeting Damien’s father and witnessing Damien’s twisted crash out, I’d planned on calling in tired. My body felt like I hadn’t slept at all, and Damien was still knocked out in bed when I got up.

But that was before I saw those eyes.

Angelina had crept into the bedroom early, sketchbook hugged to her chest, an apple in one hand, and asked, "Can you come to the greenhouse? Grandma said you could help her today…I wanna draw you with the flowers."

She didn’t even have to pout. One blink of those lashes and I was done for.

So, here I was, in a pair of sneakers, old jeans rolled to my calves, a tank under a button-up, and worn gardening gloves, standing in a gorgeous greenhouse on the Raphaël estate.

Morning sunlight slipped through the glass panels, casting honey-golden stripes across the plants, the stone path, and the bench where Angelina now sat cross-legged, pencil between her fingers, sketchpad